


Gideon in Exile

by yyanunav



Category: Ancient Roman Religion & Lore, Conan Exiles (Video Game), The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/F, Hyboria, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yyanunav/pseuds/yyanunav
Summary: Gideon Nav  fights for her freedom, her fortune and the attentions hot patrician babes in the gladiatorial arena of New Rome, Exilium.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Undisclosed
Comments: 10
Kudos: 5





	1. One Day in Gideon's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon Nav has convinced the Editor of a gladiator troop to buy her debt from a death cult, giving Gideon the chance to fight for her freedom. Today is a perfectly good day to die.

Gideon woke up in the barracks well before dawn. She had hardly slept but felt incredibly alert. Today was a perfectly fine day to die. It was the first day of her first munera. She did not feel nervous. She felt nothing like the anxiety she had when she first met Domitia, the Editor of this troop. Then she had come to negotiate and audition for her life. She wished Domitia to "buy" her mother's debt from the asinine death cult that had effectively owned Gideon since the day she was born. If she remained in their service she would not pay off her debt until and unless she lived to be 79 years of age. And if by some freakish disaster she bore a child while in the cult's service the child would incur more debt and inherit all of Gideon's. However if Domitia decided she was a worthwhile investment, Gideon could earn her freedom in 15 years. Sooner if she did well in the arena and obtained prize money. But best of all, even if she was not successful and died in the ring, her debt, (and that of her mother's), would die with her. Although Gideon's mother had long since passed into the void a final time, the debt supposedly weighed upon her spirit in the afterlife and that thought, whether true or not, weighed upon Gideon as well.

Gideon was good with the sword, having been trained by the embittered captain of the temple guard. But she was utterly willful, hateful and insubordinate and not fit for guard duties. Nor was she fit for any other service in the moronic death cult. The ossified nuns and the decrepit necrolords despised her and wanted her gone, but hated her too much to release her, no matter how counter-productive keeping Gideon in servitude turned out to be. But if Domitia came to them, with cash in hand and convinced them that she intended to hurry Gideon towards a gorey demise then they might jump at the opportunity to be rid of her without staining their own honor by killing an indentured free-person with their own hands. With so much at stake, that audition and negotiation had been nerve wracking. But it had been a success and now here she was, a neophyte gladiatrix of the Third Southern Corp.

Technically she had "lost" her freedom as a result of the transaction whereby the Editor purchased her debt. Since no free-person can be a gladiator she was deemed to have defaulted on her debt and became subject to imprisonment or slavery. However by venerable custom, as long as she retained her Editor's approval she need fear neither. And her Editor would approve of her so long as she was willing to fight. Gideon was always willing to fight. So now she needed only to concern herself with the very real likelihood of dying in battle. Possibly as early as this morning. But today was a perfectly fine day to die.

The newest and youngest gladiators would fight in the earliest bouts of the day, well before the official opening of the Munera. She and other recruits would grimly hack at each other for the entertainment of the lower classes of spectators who could not afford the main event. If she was not killed or grievously injured, she might be allowed to participate in the opening parade that evening. These prospects brought neither fear nor excitement to Gideon. Instead she felt a smooth icy calmness settle over her entire body. Every breath of air felt thick, soothing and cool. The sensations of her morning routine, washing, dressing, even each bite of oat gruel felt exquisitely detailed. The world around her seemed to have slowed. She suspected this was simply adrenaline augmented by the knowledge that each of these actions could be the last she ever experiences this side of the void. But it also pleased her to think that this was what if felt like to be doing exactly what one was destined to do. It came to her during her meal that her new debt, which she now owed to Domitia meant nothing to her. Now that it was irrevocably severed from her mother's name it bore weight on her at all. She couldn't care less if it was ever expunged. Instead she realized that this day was what she had lived for. Her love of the battle would fulfill all other existential needs. As long as she could swing her great sword, she would be content. And the fact that the day she failed to swing her sword would likely be the day she died was perfectly acceptable to her.

After eating, she still had plenty of time before she needed to be at the arena but she walked directly there. As the faintest predawn light started to illuminate the city she passed calmly and quickly (not running, Gideon never ran unless she had to) through the dusty city streets. Along the ways she passed only a few other souls; a couple of ambitious plebeians and handful of slaves and peasants preparing for a long day of toil and servitude but not a single patrician or member of the ruling elite. Most of those would have been up late into the night enjoying themselves at pre-munera festivities and few would likely stir until the opening parade. No nobles, not likely even her own Editor would bother to come to the arena to watch her fight. However there would be plenty of plebeians there enjoying the cheap entertainment while they could. One or two lanistae might be there however to supervise their trainees or at least inspect the fruits of their recent labours. Her own lanista, Balaat might actually be there to watch her fight. Her relationship with Balaat was... well it was not quite describable at this point. She was terrified of the woman, furious with her, and desperate for her approval. In fact, the thought of Balaat was the first disruption to the perfectly still and calm state of mind that had settled upon her this morning. The thought of Balaat was like a chilling gust of wind that shivers the glassy surface of a still pool, scattering light in a frantic spastic dance. Yes, Balaat would definitely be there for Gideon's first fight. She would be watching with amused contempt. She would be watching with a clearly expected outcome. But what was she expecting? Gideon's victory, humiliation, or violent death? Gideon had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so since I don' t really know where I'm going with this I've used "Balaat" as a placeholder name for a character who might actually be Harrowhark. Certainly the current state of her relationship with Gideon is inspired by Harrow. I'm just not sure the lanista (a gladiator trainer) is going to be an appropriate role for Harrow. By appropriate I mean in my own opinion. If anything Harrow should be a young sadistic patrician in Domitia's household or social circle. So... the Balaat entanglement will have to sort itself out.


	2. Two Fatal Errors Make One Rite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon finds herself in a deep hole. Foul language and brief moments of lucid introspection result.

Gideon started swearing again.

“Fuck!”

The blood in on her forehead was starting to drip along her eyebrow, tickling as is grew ready to flow along the bridge of her nose and right into her eye. She tried to use her right arm, without dropping her enormous sword, to wipe the it off of her forehead before it dripped into her eyes. But the shredded sleeves of her cultist robes were already soaked through and the gesture only smeared sanguineous sludge over her nose and mouth.

“Fuck. FUCK!” Gideon swore. In frustration she started to use the back of her other, less slimy hand, to do the job, forgetting about the razor sharp obsidian knuckle knives strapped to her left wrist. She stopped herself only a pube’s breadth away from gouging the last pair of functioning eyeballs out of her skull. She still needed those.

“Did I say fuck yet? Because seriously, fuck this … Oh FUCK NO!”

Moving her left hand had made her lose her grip on the princess’s body. It slipped out from under her arm and fell back further into the pit, dislodging other precariously piled corpses and threatening to start a charnel avalanche which would bury Gideon in fresh human remains.

“OMG Gideon what are you doing!? You let it go! I swear on the eternal rotting goddess, if you don’t bring my body back in one piece I’ll personally feed your fingers to the ommigrindr. I’m not bluffing!”

The dead princess was bluffing, but calling her bluff would be nearly as painful as the actual omnigrindr, so Gideon said nothing. Instead, she craned her neck to keep her still-functioning eyeballs glued to the desiccated royal corpse as it continued to slide deeper into the pit, closer to the aperture. Aiming from memory, she then swung her great sword backwards, tossing it up and out of the pit. With normal luck it should land in something soft, (hopefully a priest), and stay put. With Gideon’s luck it would definitely spin in three perfect circles before plunging straight back down through her skull. At least that would shut the princess up.

“OMG Gideon, what are you doing? That was your sword!” the once and former princess pronounced helpfully.

“It’s okay your highness. I’m sure you’ll buy me a new one as soon as we bring you back, right?”

“OMG Gideon what are you thinking? I can’t… we can’t afford… there is absolutely no… Oh… Ha. Ha.”

Death, (or death 2.0 as it might be), must have improved the princess’s powers of perception because it was typically the next day before she detected sarcasm, if ever.

“OMG Gideon what are you doing!? Ahh! Look! It’s going to fall in. Get it! Why aren’t you looking!? Get it! Save me!”

No matter how many times she had haunted Gideon, the princess couldn’t, or couldn’t be bothered more like, manage to understand the basics of parasitic possession. She never absorbed hat she could only ever see exactly what Gideon was seeing with her own, adequately functioning, eyeballs no more no less. Right now what Gideon was seeing was this: the precious corpse was starting to come unwound, its linen strips unravelling as it slipped and rolled over fresher, more fetid, human remains on its way toward the aperture at the bottom of the huge conical pit that Gideon had descended on a rescue mission for the terminally damned. The aperture was a narrow choke point exactly like the throat of an hourglass. But instead of sand measuring minutes, the gently used, previously owned, second hand flesh-houses of humans measured eternity as they periodically tumbled into a stinking scarab-infested cavern below.

The bodies came from all over. Most were offered by devout descendants of lately devout worshippers of Derketo, the queen of death, fertility, and rancid body fluids apparently. The Emperor Undying sent a steady supply of ‘retired’ slaves from the arena or the mines. The army contributed a regular, though surprisingly modest---all things considered, share. But not all deceased homo-sapiens were appropriate offerings to the pit. For example the mummified corpse of the unholy princess of misery was a completely inappropriate offering---as the princess herself had been quick to point out. The bureaucratic error that had led to the present scenario was one of such gravity that mere death (even if preceded by unspeakable torture) would not have been sufficient punishment. However justice is blind, stupid and utterly corruptible; the very office that originated this unforgivable sin had managed to arrange things so that it became entirely Gideon’s problem. The ghastly princess herself seemed to lose all interest incriminating the actual guilty party upon realizing she had obtained the opportunity to nag and torment Gideon, albeit briefly if the swordswoman was not successful.

Gideon blinked. Sand scratched the inside of her eyelids. She wished devoutly that the princess could feel that too. Holding her breath and moving slowly she gingerly bent her knees and reached down to take hold of the end of the princess’s linen wrappings which extended like a long fuse toward the regal stiff which was still unravelling slowly.

Gideon swore again.

“You fucking better have something on under those bandages, your dehydrated highness. If I have to see your sun-dried titties or your fossilized fanny I’ll rip each of my eyes out and throw them in the pit after you.”

“OMG Gideon what are you talking about! I’m ravishing and you know it. You should be so lucky.”

This was not the first time the princess revealed that despite seeing through Gideon’s completely operational eyeballs, her vision was gravely flawed. And who the hell says ‘ravishing’ anyways? By the goddess’s gritty cooch, the princess was hello old!

Gideon, still holding her breath, gently tugged at the cloth, the body started to roll faster. She gave a tremendous pull, hoping to snap the regal corpus back up towards her like a yo-yo. The force of it did flick the morsel of dried princess meat into the air for just a second … before it tumbled neatly through the aperture into the void below.

The immortal soul of the dead princess screamed like a summer solstice sacrifice victim from out of the depths of Gideon’s skull. Gideon hadn’t thought her head had such impressive acoustics but the spirit of the princess of misery’s miserable shriek was reverberating through her brain like an amphitheatre. The linen wrap in her hand went momentarily slack as the body tumbled through space but then snapped taught with a sickening crack. Surely, the princess’s body should have crumbled into dust at that shock. But no, the conscientious embalmers of yesteryear must have done a good job of converting the petulant bitch’s remains into some sturdy taxidermy because it merely flexed slightly and held together. The same clever embalmer, bless her spleen, must also have had the fortuitous foresight to tie the shroud tightly around something, probably a dainty little neck, as insurance against exactly today’s turn of events.

Gideon held firmly to the thin linen ribbon and could feel the body begin to swing at the other end. It was light at least. It hadn’t caused her to lose her footing only a few yards away from the gaping hole. Slipping now would mean falling, with the corpse, into a vast cavern. With good luck, she’d break her neck. With Gideon’s luck she’d definitely break her back but stay conscious as the scarabs ate out her functional eyeballs, tongue, and tonsils before using her warm body to incubate scarab eggs. Eventually they’d get around to eating the princess’s chewy cadaver too but no doubt they save if for last so Gideon would have some shrill complaining company during her last hateful days of life. Though, come to think of it, the princessly poltergeist was strangely quiet right now. Gideon decided not to think about what that might mean and dutifully started winding her catch back in.

Angling for the dead like this had to be done slowly; to avoid slipping; for reasons that are now plainly established. So Gideon had time to think. That was unfortunate because this is what she thought:

They’re going to kill me.

Inexplicably this hurt Gideon’s feelings. Eighteen years of abuse, contempt, scorn and downright shitty treatment was bad, sure. Even years of completely unsubtle and unrelenting hints that she should kill herself, rude of course. But never before now had it occurred to her that collectively, or individually, the vile cult in service to Derketo, the fetid and divine bitch of fecundity and decay was embarked upon relentless program whose destination was Gideon’s own annihilation. They would not kill her ceremonially, the way they killed thousands every year for their gross goddess’s glory. They would not kill her judicially as punishment for her legitimately blasphemous sins against their bullshit theological code. They would not even do her the courtesy of hiring even a fourth-rate guild member to stab her in the back (as if, lol) or poison her (not that the cult kitchen wasn’t coming pretty close on daily basis). No, the slimy low-life clergy of the half-baked cult of Death was going to murder Gideon through pure bureaucracatic apathy. They would collectively, but apparently without any organized design, asign and re-assign Gideon to a series of posts, offices and obligations which would inevitably and unstoppably lead to her death. Her current assignment was case and point. Even now, in this moment of relative stability, having killed seven revenant guardians and arrested her charge’s plunge into the abyss without joining her, Gideon’s prospects of surviving this errand were hovering at about 37 percent. If she fell now she would die. If she failed (to retrieve the precious royal mummy) but lived, she would be sent on a worse quest immediately. If she succeeded, she would also be sent on a worse quest almost immediately.

“Well fuck me” Gideon said somberly, breaking her 47 second non-swearing steak. By chance she happened to be holding the deceased princess right up to face level as she spoke. The thing had, as her worst fears predicted, come competely unraveled so Gideon found herself staring into two dry sockets where centuries ago, a princess’s pretty eyeballs once functioned, fully. Also in accordance with her worst fears, the naked corpse, stripped of bandages revealed nothing remained to preserve her modesty. Thankfully time had transformed the Princess of Misery’s mammaries and pudenda into pure, un-suggestive abstractions thus protecting Gideon’s innocent eyes from fatal psychological trauma. Wrinkling her nose she continued the one-sided conversation.

“I’m starting to feel seriously unappreciated around here.” she confided to the nude and dead body. “But fine, I take the hint. I’m out of here.” And so, then and there, she decided to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I have no real idea what an omnigrindr(TM) is but it is obviously painful.


End file.
